


Stay With Me

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: A Sick!Fic, and not the fluffy sort. A happy ending is guaranteed, though.





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from Sam Smith's Stay With Me

_(won't you stay with me)_ **  
**

 

Chris gets the call as he’s leaving his grandmother’s house.

 

It’s Darren’s assistant. He frowns a little when he sees her name; they only remain in contact for logistical purposes, and even then, they just email.

 

He’s not expecting her to be panicky and breathless. He’s not expecting her to say, “Darren’s in the hospital.”

 

***

 

_(it's not a good look, gain some self-control)_

 

The short plane ride to LAX is spent shivering in his seat. Before, Chris had searched up the term ‘Cardiac Arrest’ with shaking fingers while he’d still had time at the terminal. He’d reached the words  _10% survival rate_  and had barely made it to the bathrooms before he was dry heaving into the sink.

 

Chris had expected tears to follow, but they hadn’t.

 

Instead, he’s sat there, twisting a kleenex to shreds in his lap. He’s cursing himself for being out of town, cursing himself for letting Darren go to work today, cursing himself for  _not fucking being there-_

 

The seatbelt sign flashes on, his stomach drops as the descent begins, and bile rushes up to his throat.

 

***

 

_(you're all I need)_

 

Chris feels as if he’s in that hospital waiting room for days.

 

_”-one of the PAs had taken CPR training, he recognised it as cardiac arrest immediately-”_

 

_”-they defibrillated his heart in the ambulance, his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm on first shock-”_

 

_”-medically induced coma to ensure that-”_

 

_”-brain damage-”_

 

***

 

_(never seem to go to plan)_

 

Telling Darren’s parents that their son might have brain damage is the worst thing that Chris has ever had to do. He’s recounting to them everything he’s been told, and when he gets to the part about Darren possibly not recognising any of them when he wakes up, Chris starts to cry.

 

Immediately, Cerina puts aside every ounce of worry that she feels for her son to reassure him as calmly as she can that Darren will make it out of the other end.

 

“Our Darren won’t give up without a fight, darling,” she says, and he can hear the traffic swirling around her on the other end of the line.

 

Chris listens to her assure him they’ll be there soon, and then puts his phone aside when the line goes dead.

 

“Please,” he thinks, not realising he’s saying it out loud until it comes out in a cracked whisper, “don’t leave me. Don’t you dare fucking leave me, you fucking asshole. I-I can’t do this without you.”

 

***

 

_(I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand)_

 

They let Chris in once Darren’s stable- stable meaning under and unresponsive.

 

It’s the most terrifying thing in the world to see Darren lying there, still as a deadweight, with only the faint rise and fall of his chest as an indication that his heart is still beating.

 

Chris hates it, but all he can see when he looks at the bed, with its stark white sheets and cold frame, is that it looks like a coffin.

 

He makes his way over to Darren’s side, all but collapsing into the regulation navy blue chairs that every hospital contains. Chris pulls it up close, so close that he can reach out to touch Darren’s cheek.

 

“Hi, Dare,” he murmurs quietly. “I’m here now. I’m here now, sweetheart. I don’t know if you can hear me, so maybe I’m just talking to myself right now. When- when I was little, I read a book about a boy who fell into a coma and could hear everything around him. His nurse used to sing to him. I would sing, but these curtains are like, paper-thin, and I’d probably make the other patients sicker than they already are.” Chris laughs a little, the thick, wet sort that sounds more like a choke than a laugh. A single tear tickles as it drips down his nose. “I’ll sing for you all you like when you wake up, though. I promise I won’t even complain.”

 

By the time a Nurse drops by to check Darren’s vitals, Chris’ has taken Darren’s hand, forehead pressed atop their twined fingers.

 

***

 

_(lay with me so it doesn’t hurt)_

 

A few days later, they lift the coma.

 

Chris  _hates_ the uncertainty that comes with it. There could be everything wrong, or nothing wrong at all.

 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

 

With Cerina and Bill close behind him, Chris steps through the door to see Darren sitting up on the bed. His hair is a shock of darkness in the muted grey room, and his skin is paler than he has ever seen it. Chris recognises one of the Critical Care doctors who had spoken to him standing to the side, amongst the tubes and the wires.

 

Darren looks up at him, and for a second, Chris thinks  _oh god oh god oh god_ , but then his face is breaking out into a weak smile.

 

In his eyes, pupils like pin pricks under the harsh light, is the unmistakable flash of recognition. The wave of relief flooding through Chris’ veins makes him feel as if his legs might give way.

 

They’re by his side in seconds, Darren’s parents at one end and Chris at the other. The doctor is saying something, but Chris can’t hear anything past the erratic thud of his heart and the knowledge that this Darren is still  _his_ Darren, no matter what else may have happened to him.

 

Chris clutches Darren’s hand, and Darren squeezes back. 

 

“Things are going to be a little bit slow from here,” the doctor says carefully. “He hasn’t shown any obvious signs of neurological damage, but it’s important for us to run some cognitive tests. We also haven’t found any underlying conditions, but we’re going to fit him with an implantable cardioverter defibrillator as a precaution.” He pauses. “That will require surgery.”

 

Darren’s hand clamps down on Chris’,  _hard_.

 

The doctor either sees the movement, or the clear discomfort in Darren’s eyes. “Not to worry- it’s a fairly routine procedure, and you’ll be under local anaesthesia.”

 

He goes on to explain some more recovery requirements- checkups, lifestyle changes and support services. All the while, Chris is looking at Darren, drinking in the colour of his open eyes and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

 

Eventually, he and Darren are left alone.

 

“Chris,” Darren says for the first time, voice broken with disuse. It is all Chris can do not to crumple. “ _Chris_.”

 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching out to push aside his tumbleweed hair.

 

Darren, very slowly, lifts up a hand to shakily sign, _I love you._

 

***

 

_(but darling, stay with me)_

 

It takes several weeks for Darren to be able to walk again. By this time they’re almost back to normal, back to the way they were-  _before_.

 

Darren, of course, starts to grow impatient. He still can’t exert himself much without getting exhausted, and can hardly break out of a slow jog. For Darren, who spent every single moment of every single day moving, singing, working- it’s torture.

 

After several hours of them sitting on the couch- Chris writing and Darren complaining- Chris tells him, as a joke, to write a book.

 

He’s sort of not really surprised that Darren does. Or at least, starts to.

 

Slowly, they both ease back into their old schedules. Chris lets Darren go back to work, on the condition that he gets to call him at least once throughout the day to check up on him. He doesn’t tell Darren that he’s cancelled any of his own trips that require him to be out of town. He doesn’t tell Darren that he’s in fact not planning to take any trips alone ever again.

 

He doesn’t tell Darren that sometimes, he stares at the phone in his lap, and wills himself not to call for the second time.

 

***

 

_(you're all I need)_

 

One evening, they’re lying on the futon in the back garden, watching the dogs play in the dewy grass. The cushions are so narrow that they have to budge up tight, but neither of them are really complaining.

 

From this close, Chris can see the faint ring of the ICD under Darren’s skin. He reaches out to touch it- feels the round edge of it and the scar above. It’s designed to restore Darren’s heart to a normal rhythm, should he ever suffer from another cardiac arrest.

 

Chris finds it strangely comforting. If he’s ever not around to protect Darren, this little piece of metal will.

 

“What are you thinking about?” asks Darren quietly.

 

Chris is silent for a moment. “Your heart stopped,” he says. “Do you- do you ever think about that?”

 

Darren shifts a little, curling an arm around Chris’ waist. “I think about how lucky I am, yeah. About how, if that PA hadn’t been working that day, or if the ambulance had come even a minute later, things would be far worse.”

 

They haven’t really spoken about how Chris had almost lost Darren. Every time the conversation veers anywhere in that direction, Chris closes up. Every time he thinks about it, he’s reliving the debilitating pain he felt on that plane, in that waiting room, by Darren’s unconscious side.

 

“You- Darren, I-”

 

“Hey,” says Darren comfortingly. “I’m here now. I’m not leaving you.”

 

“You can’t guarantee me that, Dare!” Chris cries, and suddenly, his eyes are hot with unshed tears. “You can’t tell me that nothing will happen to you again because  _you just don’t know_!”

 

Darren sits up, the worry clear in his eyes. He takes Chris’ shaking hands in his own. “How long have you been thinking about that, Cee? Why- why didn’t you  _tell_ me?”

 

Chris forces down the lump in his throat, and the throb of an oncoming headache. “I didn’t want to worry you. We were so busy with physio and checkups and work. We didn’t need my paranoia mixed up in all that.”

 

“You’re right,” Darren says finally. “I can’t promise you anything. “But, just like what happened to me, we’ll deal with those hurdles if they ever come around again. We  _can’t_ spend the rest of our lives being scared of something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

 

Chris sighs, brushing his knuckles against Darren’s jaw. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one with PTSD?”

 

Darren laughs, but his eyes are serious. “Yeah, I’m glad I haven’t reacted too badly. Like- it was terrifying, hearing what had happened, and hearing what I’d put you through- but it wasn’t permanent. Some people aren’t that lucky. The fear that it will happen again- that your heart might stop beating without warning- can be pretty damn awful.”

 

They watch the dogs play for a moment. The wind ripples through the leaves in the bushes, and Darren’s hippy chimes tinkle.

 

“You’ll tell me, won’t you?” Chris asks. “If you’re ever feeling like that?”

 

Darren reclines back on the futon, pulling Chris with him. “Only if you promise not to worry about me.”

 

“I can’t promise you that.”

 

“If you promise not to worry about me unnecessarily, then?”

 

Chris wriggles deeper into the cave of Darren’s open arms. “I’ll think about it.”

 

Darren presses his lips to Chris’ forehead. A particularly strong gust of wind sends fallen leaves flying, and Brian, who had been dozing on the porch deck, startles awake when some of them skitter across the wood in his direction.

 

“Do you want to go inside?” Chris asks.

 

“Nah, let’s stay out here a little longer.”

 

In the warm, familiar embrace of Darren’s arms, Chris is grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> If you suspect someone is suffering from a cardiac arrest (sudden loss of responsiveness, no normal breathing):
> 
> 1\. Call 911
> 
> 2\. Get an AED - automated external defibrillator. These should be available in all establishments, mounted and in clear view.
> 
> 3\. CPR. 
> 
> Every second matters.


End file.
